


Thankful For

by Original_Cypher



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pack Family, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/Original_Cypher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing like an ambush party. Derek reflects on happiness. Relevantly, Stiles happens to be there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thankful For

Derek closes his eyes for a moment and lets the sound of Cora's burst of laughter wash over him. He can hear all of them, inside. He can smell the food. And above ir, the pack. Their serene joy at being together on this occasion. 

He stands on the balcony, his back to the bay window and takes another moment to let it all sink in. It's strange. Today of all days, he can't really feel ashamed for thinking this... this _thing_ , right there, this might be happiness. He guesses it's appropriate. Something to be Thankful for.

He suspects it was Stiles' idea from the start. It was _him_ , naturally, that commandeered the loft and decided that the entire pack plus extended family would gather there. Because, as he – falsely, Derek is pretty sure – claimed, the only way to make Sourwolf McGrumpy attend would be to build the celebration around him. But more than that, Derek is pretty sure the whole Pack Thanksgiving idea originated in the wily mind of aforementioned shaman.

Sometimes he wonders what his mom would think of how they live. He was too young, when he lost his parents, to really pay mind to pack dynamics and their opinions on politics. He's sure that, on a personal level, they would love Melissa and the Sheriff. And Stiles, Lydia and Danny. But what would they think of a pack with two alphas? A True One and a broken one. What would they think of a pack that not only includes humans, as wolves' rarely do, but other things. Like Banshees. A pack that has two emissaries. An official, trained one, and one of the 'either you let me go with you, or you'll have to come save my bacon because I'll follow you anyway' kind.

It's a mystery how, but they function pretty well. And they don't just work for Derek. They all seem happier. Healthier. More balanced.

Derek knows he's not a reference in the matter and his standpoint is probably not the best to judge from, but the way he sees things is this: he doesn't know where he is, on the curve from zero to happy. All he knows is, as a whole, they've never been better.

Stiles smells like cinnamon rolls.

The scent wafts to Derek just before he hears sneakers scrape on the cement as the young man comes to lean on the railing by his side. Something crashes and shatters – sounds like a mug met its tragic end. Erica and Melissa erupt in laughter at Boyd's startled _yip_. Derek shakes his head. This is going to leave a mark in the loft for a while. He doesn't just mean tomorrow's tidying up party. But the scent of everyone's gleeful rowdiness will last. He's not sure whether he wants to start airing the place right now or bottle some of it up for when he feels blue. Stiles is an evil genius.

The human sways, bumping their hips together and using Derek's steadiness to push himself away again. The alpha doesn't have to look, he has the small grin playing on Stiles lips memorized, by now. “Was is as bad as you thought?”

“No, actually. I had fun.” It's a lie he can afford because Stiles can't hear it. He never expected it to be bad in the first place. He thought it might stir painful memories. It did bring up some. Somehow, instead of tearing at his insides, they stayed fond and nostalgic.

“I saw,” Stiles says, smirk in his voice. “You laughed.” Derek side-eyes him. Stiles' honest and quiet smile is disconcerting. “It's a good look on you.”

Derek shrugs, goes back to looking out to the city lights. Somehow, they are a duo that works well. Once they got past pretending not to care about each other's lives, they became allies, and quickly evolved to friends. At first, Derek thought they formed the most unlikely pairing. In hindsight, though, they make complete sense. They are similar in places, such as an affinity for banter and snark, dry humor and devotion to their friends. And complementary in others. Stiles doesn't mind the silences Derek can't quite help yet. He can read them. On occasion, he can fill them. Derek isn't sure how Stiles _knows_ when to and when _not to_ tease, ramble or push. But he always gets it right. They both think out of the box, yet, never approach things from the same angle. At first, it resulted in some drawn out confused arguments and exasperated explanations, but once they managed to decode each other's way of thinking, the arsenal of genius – Stiles' words – saved all of their lives quite a few times.

“I'm thankful for you,” Derek says quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. He can tell, by the way Stiles turns wide eyes that quickly turn searching on him, that he wasn't expecting the statement and doesn't know what to do with it. “You were talking about the things you were thankful for, in there, right?” He gestures to the bay window, even though neither of them glances its way. “If I had to pick one thing, especially tonight, it would be you.” He smiles a little at the way Stiles' neck colors. He's never been able to take a compliment. Derek pokes at his arm gently. “You made _this_ happen.” He isn't quite sure if it's even an accusation anymore. “You make us who we are. What we are. A pack.” They work well _now_ , but they both know who bitched some sense into everyone's heads at the beginning. “You push me. Always.” He flashes a smile. “Thank you.”

Stiles stares back for a long minute. He's not just taken aback and touched, his heart is thumping too hard for that. Eventually, he licks his lips and shakes his head. “I didn't do this so you'd-...”

“I know,” Derek cuts in. He's leaned in closer, so he speaks more quietly. “Still.”

Stiles swallows, his eyes drift to Derek's lips before he flicks them away, blinking quickly. Oh. _Oh._ Derek stares. _Yeah?_

They _work_. Damn, of course they-...

He can see confirmation in Stiles' eyes when the human catches Derek staring back at his lips. There's a hint of hope there, a good dose of heat, a tick in the pupil, wider. Stiles wants this too.

Well, now. This he can live with.

It's a simple brush of lips, at first. Skin catching on skin. When neither pulls away, it becomes a real kiss. It feels long overdue.

As Stiles responds in kind, sighing contentedly, Derek can't help but feeling torn. He's surprised that this is happening, that this is requited and yet... it's completely unsurprising. It's not like kissing Stiles doesn't feel spectacular and so exciting. But it feels familiar. Like they've been doing it forever. 

Maybe they should have.

He huffs and lets out a quiet sound of approval when Stiles closes a hand around his bicep and steps closer.

There's a whoop, and then people are cheering and clapping and laughing. It takes a cat call and a wolf whistle from Scott for Derek to realize this is for _them_.

The kiss breaks because Stiles starts laughing. He pulls back, grinning. Derek still remembers the boy he met, can recall the fractured shell of a person _he_ was then. He's glad to be kissing Stiles, the man. He's grateful that he got to keep him in his life.

The shaman eyes are crinkled, and Derek knows he's simpering back like a fool, but Stiles doesn't seem to mind. Instead, he grabs a fistful of Derek's shirt and kisses him again, sliding in between the werewolf and the banister. Derek follows happily, moaning when a hot tongue comes to seek his out. He rests his hands on the railing, caging, lets Stiles haul him off balance so he stumbles forward, chest to chest. He groans, quietly, as Stiles' fingers dig into his cheekbones and jaw. He's got so many thanks to give.

“Alright, alright, that's enough!” The Sheriff's call is gruff, but there is laughter in his voice.

Stiles ducks his face into Derek's neck and chuckles quietly. The werewolf bites his own lip against a full on goofy grin threatening to break his face in half and snakes his arms securely around Stiles' frame. “Definitely thankful for you,” he whispers, knowing full well that anyone inside paying attention could catch his words, provided supernaturally enhanced senses.

Stiles pulls back just enough to smile back at him. God, this shouldn't feel so natural already. There's a tiny flash of light, and the sound of a picture being taken from a phone. Erica makes a pleased noise. “Let's Instagram this mother...”

Derek groans, shoulders slumping and Stiles blushes. “Let's never go back inside.”

Stiles trails pensive fingers up his neck and grins back. “I'm willing to camp out here all night if you are.”


End file.
